“I wish I could be more like Epaphroditus.”
That was the sentiment of one group member after our Zoom discussion of Philippians 2. Epaphroditus makes a big impression in spite of only brief references (2:25–30 and 4:18). Paul describes him in glowing terms as “my brother, co-worker and fellow soldier, who is also your messenger, whom you sent to take care of my needs” (2:25). In light of Paul’s words, my friend felt inferior by comparison.
But when we read the whole story of Epaphroditus more slowly, a rather different, more human picture emerges. The church in Philippi had sent Epaphroditus to deliver a financial gift and assist Paul while he was in prison. But after Epaphroditus arrived, his health deteriorated rapidly. We aren’t told what his illness was, but he nearly died from it. In his convalescence, Epaphroditus grew extremely homesick. Knowing everyone back in Philippi was worried about his condition only added to his distress.
The stress Epaphroditus was experiencing in turn created undue stress for Paul. The helper who’d been sent now needed help. Paul told the Philippians he’d “have less anxiety” (v. 28) if he sent Epaphroditus back.
So Epaphroditus’s mission trip was cut short prematurely. While Epaphroditus was probably relieved to be heading home, that relief would likely have been tempered by feelings of trepidation. Would people judge him for being weak? Would they be disappointed or let down?
If I were in Epaphroditus’s place, I know the voices in my head would be full of accusation. I’d compare my lack of stamina to Paul’s seemingly endless supply of endurance. Even if no one else thought less of me, I’d be battling my own feelings of failure and shame over having washed out without completing the work. Epaphroditus was returning to Philippi with ample reasons for insecurity, discouragement, and self-doubt.
Paul’s Pastoral Care
What a gift Paul gave Epaphroditus in his letter to the Philippians! Epaphroditus held in his hands concrete words of affirmation from Paul to counter whatever lies might have been spinning in his head. And as Epaphroditus reengaged with the community that sent him out, Paul paved the way for him to be received with honor and dignity rather than criticism and judgment.
This letter likely changed the trajectory of Epaphroditus’s future. The fact that even casual readers in a Zoom call today hold him in such high regard says more about Paul’s care for him than about Epaphroditus himself. Paul restored worth to someone who could easily have been written off for not pulling his weight. The way in which Paul went about doing so provides an excellent model for pastoral care.
Paul Let Epaphroditus Live Within His Limits
Earlier in Philippians 2, Paul praised Jesus’ humility, describing how Christ voluntarily set aside all that he could have clung to as divine privilege, choosing instead to live within the limits of a human existence (2:6–8).
In contrast, we often press against limitations. We want to know more than we do; we want greater control than we have; we believe we have more capacity and power than is actually the case. The truth is we all have limits. Sometimes those are mental or emotional. Sometimes they’re financial. And sometimes they are physical. Epaphroditus found that his body couldn’t take it. The strain was too much. His mind and emotions had also hit a wall. He was no longer functioning well.
At that point, it could have been tempting for Paul as a pastor to step into exhortation mode. Here was a disciple ripe for a lesson about pressing on and enduring hardship. But Paul didn't spiritualize or play the guilt card. Rather than finding fault, he looked at the reality of this man’s condition and told him, “I think that’s enough.”
We err when we assume everyone else’s limitations should be the same as our own. Consider the pioneer missionary William Carey who is celebrated for writing, “I can plod. I can persevere in any defined pursuit. To this I owe everything.” And Carey could; he had tremendous capacity and accomplished amazing things after long years of persistence. But Carey never came to grips with the reality that his family didn’t share his rugged endurance. Tragically, several of his children died during those years, and his wife suffered a mental breakdown.
Paul knew others weren’t in the same position he was. He didn’t expect everyone to remain unmarried like he had. He didn’t ask everyone to become an itinerant preacher, suffering the same brutal treatment he did. Paul saw Epaphroditus for who he was and gave him full permission to live within his God-given limits.
One reason Paul could do this is because he knew our limits are gifts and not sins. So often we see limits as obstacles standing in the way of us and our dreams and goals. But Paul’s own experience with the thorn taught him that perceived weaknesses and limits are the very places where God’s strength becomes most readily available (2 Cor. 12:7–10). As pastors, when we give others the freedom to accept their own limits rather than insisting they overcome them, we make room for them to pay attention to where God is at work.
Paul Restored Worth by Sharing Status
In all of Scripture, there’s really no one quite like Paul. He had a lengthy religious pedigree (Phil. 3:4–6). If that weren’t enough, over the years he accumulated an incomparable curriculum vitae of hardships that included imprisonment, persecution, beatings, starvation, and shipwreck (2 Cor. 11).
Epaphroditus, on the other hand, was a relatively new Gentile convert with limited Bible knowledge. The extent of his “enduring hardship” was getting physically sick (albeit severely) and missing home. To our knowledge, Epaphroditus received no threats for his faith and suffered no overtly spiritual attacks. He simply experienced the kinds of challenges that generally go along with being human.
Yet Paul treated Epaphroditus’s illness as an equally valid form of suffering for Christ (Phil. 2:30). He did not judge it as less worthy for being merely physical. When he called Epaphroditus “my brother, co-worker and fellow soldier” (v. 25), he elevated Epaphroditus’s standing to that of a peer.
Maya Angelou once said that only equals can be friends. Paul modeled that concept beautifully here. Apart from surviving a harrowing illness, Epaphroditus hadn’t really done anything that would rank him anywhere near Paul in our minds. It was Paul who chose to see him as an equal, and he did so when such grace was least deserved and most needed.
It is easy to assign greater or lesser status to people based on their accomplishments, education, wealth, or influence—and we often do this unknowingly. We may find ourselves enamored with congregation members who seem to have the most to contribute (either in finances or talent), gravitating toward the Sauls who impress us with their stature while passing over the Davids. But Paul’s example here reminds us that, as human beings, we are all bearers of the imago Dei and, at the same time, we are all equally in need of the Cross. Staying grounded in the core reality where we share status gives us better footing for building true relationships and pastoring well.
Paul Honored the Person Above the Failure
As Epaphroditus headed home with this letter, Paul kept the spotlight on the honorable aspects of Epaphroditus’s ministry rather than rehashing the obvious shortcomings of the curtailed mission trip.
I find that I can be quite good at honoring failure. I hang on to the painful memories of my own mistakes. I might say I forgive someone yet continue to view him through the lens of how he let me down.
I’m struck by a story about Clara Barton, the founder of the American Red Cross, who faced many challenges and detractors in establishing the organization. A colleague once reminded her of how another person had attacked her years earlier. Clara had no recollection of the incident, which mystified her friend. When pressed, Clara said, “I distinctly remember forgetting that.”
In Philippians, we can see that Paul did not dwell on any physical and emotional weakness others might fault Epaphroditus for displaying. And because Paul decided to view Epaphroditus as a person of great worth, it impacted the way Epaphroditus was received by the Philippian church.
What Paul did for Epaphroditus embodies what Christ has done for each of us—Jesus, our Savior who does not break a bruised reed or snuff out a smoldering wick (Isa. 42:3). It is because Jesus chose to assign worth to us that we are welcomed with glory by the Father.
Jesus allows us to live within our limits because he “knows how we are formed” and “remembers that we are dust” (Ps. 103:14). He too shared status with us, joining us in our lowly condition and elevating us to a new place, going so far as to call us his friends (John 15:15). And while he would have ample reason to remind us of all we’ve done wrong, he chooses instead to honor us above our failures, never treating us as our sins deserve (Ps. 103:10).
Too often, I find myself overly burdened by a sense of pastoral duty to offer a corrective admonishment, to point out error in defense of truth. That goes with the job—but it is not the only priority, nor is it the highest. The most powerful way we represent the Good Shepherd to others is through the grace we offer when they are at their most vulnerable.
The truth is, each of us is Epaphroditus, all too aware of our own weaknesses, failures, and shame. And each of us has the opportunity to be like Paul in the way we treat one another with great care.
As pastors, can we lean into a love that covers over a multitude of sins? Can we worry less about ensuring people learn from their mistakes and spend more time reminding them of their great worth to God? That is nothing short of living out the gospel. And it just might change the trajectory for those questioning their significance in the kingdom.
Jeff Peabody is a writer and lead pastor of New Day Church in Tacoma, Washington.
